


Stars Above

by Rehearsal_Dweller



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-06 02:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehearsal_Dweller/pseuds/Rehearsal_Dweller
Summary: Della tried not to focus too hard on how out of the loop she felt - if Dewey was doing something dangerous, she couldn’t get distracted by how much more easily Donald communicated with the kids than her.





	Stars Above

“It’s crazy, Dell, every time I turn around I find another box of our stuff just shoved behind a suit of armor or something,” Donald said with a vague wave toward an alcove as they walked by. “It’s like as soon as we were gone he just went around the manor hiding everything that reminded him of us. It’s made finding anything a huge chore.”

“So  _ that’s _ why half my stuff is missing?” Della replied.

“Well, I don’t know, Dumbella, did you leave half your stuff lying around on the floor in the hallways? Because if you did the answer’s probably yes,” said Donald. Della gave him a playful shove.

“I was the picture of neatness when I lived here!”

“Yeah, sure you were,” Donald said, rolling his eyes, “and my name’s –“

“Uncle Donald?” Huey interrupted, running up to him. “Dewey’s doing that thing again.”

Della said, “What thing?” at the same time her brother said, “Did you remind him what happened last time?”

“I did. He said, and I quote, ‘I take last time as a challenge,’ and then started doing it anyway,” Huey replied as if he hadn’t even heard his mother speak.

“It’s raining!”

“I’m pretty sure he thinks the rain is going to help.”

Donald started walking purposefully back the way Huey had come, his sister and child following. “Phooey. Last time we had to dig out the jetpacks -”

“ _ Jetpacks _ ?” Della repeated.

“- and I don’t want to deal with that again,” Donald continued. He came to an abrupt halt. “Dell, stay here.”

“No! This is my kid, it feels important, I’m coming with you,” said Della. She crossed her arms. She tried not to focus too hard on how out of the loop she felt - if Dewey was doing something dangerous, she couldn’t get distracted by how much more easily Donald communicated with the kids than her.

“Dewey won’t stop if you’re there,” Donald said, “he wants to impress you.”

“Uncle Donald’s right,” agreed Huey. “Past evidence shows Dewey will keep doing the thing if he thinks someone thinks he looks cool.”

And then he and Donald took off again, leaving Della frozen where she stood.  _ The thing, the thing, the thing _ , like it didn’t even warrant naming, because  _ of course _ they all knew what it was. She swallowed her frustration, shouting after them, “What thing is he even doing?”

\--

Dewey having been retrieved and wrapped up in a blanket in front of a fireplace, Donald resumed his conversation with Della. “I’m telling you, Dell-bell, if you opened that closet your shit from eighth grade or something would just come spilling out.”

“Five bucks says you’re wrong,” Della replied easily, ruffling Dewey’s hair as she stood up.

“I’ll take that bet as long as you don’t hold me to the specifics,” said Donald. “Eighth grade was an example. But there’ll be something of yours in there, I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, Donnie, I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

Della opened the closet. Sure enough, it contained a precarious stack of boxes that looked like it might fall over at a moment’s notice, with Della’s high school volleyball jersey hanging out of one of the lower boxes. She lifted the top box down, letting out a small squeal of delight as she pulled out a trophy from a long ago gymnastics meet. “Ninety-six!”

Dewey whistled. “You’ve gotta pay up now, Mom. Probably double, he even got the year right.”

“You know what year we were in eighth grade?” Della asked, momentarily distracted from her box-cavation. “Just, just off the top of your head?”

“Well, yeah,” said Dewey. He shrugged and nodded vaguely toward Donald. “Of course I do.”

Della looked silently at her brother, who in turn was watching Dewey with a content smile. Dewey didn’t seem to notice, focused as he now was on readjusting his blankets. She couldn’t help feeling a little jealous of the seamless, thoughtless way the boys interacted with Donald. They knew things about him, knew things he’d told them, knew he’d understand them when they spoke in half-code. All they knew about Della was that she hadn’t been around to know them.

She sighed. Her eyes returned to the boxes, but her heart wasn’t in the search anymore. “Hey, Donnie, I’m gonna turn in for the night. I’ll give you your ten bucks in the morning.”

“You okay, Dell?” Donald asked, a crinkle appearing between his eyebrows.

Della stood up, brushing her knees off. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just realized I’m really tired. I’m still not sleeping right, you know; gotta take sleep when it comes.”

“If you say so,” said Donald. He frowned at her, as if he wasn’t convinced she was telling the truth but didn’t want to push the matter. It’d been a long time since Della had last seen that expression, but she still knew it well.

“I’m fine,” repeated Della. And she left the room.

\--

“Hey, mom?” Louie called as Della crossed the hall from brushing her teeth back to her bedroom.

She whipped around. Louie rarely came to her for anything. “What’s up, Louie?”

“Have you seen Uncle Donald? He’s not in his room,” Louie said. Della’s heart sank.  _ Of course _ .

“Yeah, he’s, uh - he’s in the family room,” said Della, trying to hide her disappointment. “Said he wants to keep an eye on Dewey so he doesn’t try to do that thing again.”

“Dewey did the thing again?” Louie’s eyes widened. “God, no wonder I can’t find him. I bet he’s not gonna let Dew out of his sight for weeks; last time he did the thing he fell off the roof!”

“So I’ve heard,” Della replied flatly. “What’d you need your uncle for?” 

“Oh.” Louie lowered his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket to avoid Della’s eyes. “It’s nothing, no big deal.” He looked a little embarrassed. 

“No, maybe I can help you?” offered Della. “I can try, at least.”

“I actually just,” Louie said, “I just wanted to know where he was? Especially after the whole moon thing I just. I like knowing where he is, you know?”

“Oh, Louie.” She tried to keep her tone sympathetic, fighting back the thread of  _ does he look for me _ that threatened to strangle her.

Louie turned away from her. “It’s fine, Mom. Ugh, don’t feel bad for me or whatever. I’m just trying to live my life.”

“Okay, kiddo,” said Della. “Well if you need anything from me just let me know, okay?”

“Yeah, mom.”

\--

Della paced her bedroom. She kicked at the boxes littering the room as she passed them. She knew there was no point in getting worked up over this, but couldn’t help herself. She’d never been able to help herself. 

Donald had always, always been better at real life than she was. He may have his issues, but he’d always had his head on straight. Della should have known, should have  _ always  _ known that Donald was going to be a better parent than she was. She should have known when she ran away he’d pick up the slack. She should have known all those years on the moon that her boys were growing up, that someone - that  _ Donald _ \- was raising them. That they had a relationship with him that they would never, never have with her. She bit back a scream, falling onto her bed.

She didn’t know how long she laid there, with tears running down her cheeks and her beak shut tight, trying not to let any audible sobs escape her. 

“Hey, sis?” Donald’s voice called gently as he tapped on the bedroom door. “You in there?”

Della sniffled. “What do you want?”

“To check on you,” Donald replied. He opened the door, letting it fall shut behind him in its own time. Floorboard squeaks gave away his approach before he sat down on the bed next to his sister. “You seemed upset earlier. And Lou mentioned it to me, too, about an hour ago. He was really worried about you.”

“Well you can tell him I’m sorry for working him up over nothing,” Della said, her eyes still closed. “I’m fine.”

“Forgive me, Dell, but you don’t look fine.”

“You’re not forgiven. Go away.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“That’s not happening.”

“Guess I’m gonna stay here, then.” Donald leaned back on his elbows. “Don’t forget, Dell-bell, that unlike you I am  _ not _ out of practice in just annoying people into telling me things. I’m a dad now. They teach you that in dad school.”

Della didn’t mean to inhale so sharply. She didn’t mean for hot tears to start sliding down her cheeks again. She curled in on herself, pulling her knees closer to her chest.

“Oh, Della,” Donald said in a low voice. He set a hand on her leg (the flesh one, not the metal one), squeezing her ankle gently. “I thought that was what this was.”

“Am I even a mom, Donald?” Della mumbled.

“Of course you are. Why would you even ask that?”

Della opened one eye to look at her brother. “I’ve spent the last ten years surviving entirely for the sake of getting home to the boys. To you and Uncle Scrooge, too, but mostly to my kids. And I get home and - and -” She faltered, breathing heavily. “ - and they’re  _ calling  _ me mom, right? But I’m a stranger! And it’s all - it’s all - it’s all my own stupid fault.”

Donald looked at her for a moment, with an expression on his face like he was working really hard to swallow a comment like  _ geez, Della, that might be the most insightful and/or genuinely introspective thing you’ve ever said in our god damned lives _ . Eventually, it softened into a weak smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” She sat up, pushing her hair back from her face. She knew her eyes were red from crying and her voice was a little hoarse. “They - the kids - the boys. They  _ know _ you. I don’t even think they know how well.”

“It might take some time and work, but they can know you, too, Della,” said Donald. “They want to.”

“I lost so much time.”

“You’ll lose more to hiding in your bedroom. They’re still kids, and you’re home.”

Della wiped her eyes with her forearm. “I don’t know where to start.”

“How about with some hot chocolate? Come on,” Donald said. He did not give her time to disagree, standing up and pulling her up by the arm with him. He took her down to the kitchen and they leaned against the counter together in companionable but fragile silence while the milk heated up.

Webby crashed through the door, grappling hook in hand and Lena and Violet on her heels. “Hey, Bonus Dad, do you have time for me to -” She froze, taking in Della and Donald’s expressions. “- come back and talk to you later?”

Violet, who was looking back over her shoulder rather than into the kitchen, said, “I thought we needed his advice rather urgently on -” before Lena elbowed her into quieting. 

“I’ll find you in a little bit, okay, kiddo?” Donald replied.

Webby nodded firmly and ushered her friends back out of the room.

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Della said once the kids sounded far enough away, throwing her hands into the air. “These kids just get you!”

“You know, I only met Webby about a year ago.” Donald’s tone was casual, but he was watching her out of the corner of his eye. “I thought I’d never get through to her at first.”

“She didn’t grow up with the boys? With you?”

“No. I took the boys and left after you disappeared. We only moved back to the mansion a few weeks after their tenth birthday,” Donald answered, shrugging. “Webs grew up here, with Mrs B and Scrooge.”

“Some childhood,” Della said. 

Donald nodded. “The boys have been good for her.”

“I never would’ve known she wasn’t just another one of yours. Like the boys are.”

“She  _ is _ one of mine,” said Donald. He squared his shoulders, looking Della in the eye seriously. “I didn’t raise her myself, but I put in the time to build a relationship with her.”

“Hmm.” Della broke his gaze, instead turning her attention to assembling their hot chocolate.

“You’ve just got to listen to them,” Donald said. He rubbed her back in little circles. “They’ll talk. Just give them time.”

Della sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear and handing her brother a mug. “Time. I’ve got time.”

“That’s all you need.”


End file.
